


As Above, So Below

by crystalardent



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, F/M, Hate Sex, M/M, Parasites, Vaginal Sex, beelzebub likes their bugs, description of parasites under skin, heed that tag y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 03:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalardent/pseuds/crystalardent
Summary: Anthony Crowley, lead designer for Sheol, was the cutting edge of fashion. His branding meant that it was sure to be followed by imitators the next season. So when he walked into his house with the pudgy bookseller from Soho, leading him into his studio, no one batted an eye. But what does Crowley have in mind? And why is the shopkeep so embarrassed by it?Artwork by the fabulous Nephy





	As Above, So Below

The beginning of the day was so perfect, it should have been apparent that things would go wrong. Waking up to a crystal clear idea for his collection, getting his favorite coffee at the perfect temperature, and then walking into work with a clear vision. It was all too perfect. There was the lingering feeling of someone just behind him all the way to his fashion house, and then, when he walked through the doors, five voices assaulted him all at once. There was nothing but garbled shouts and distressed cries, accompanied by glossy paper waving. Behind his Valentino sunglasses, his eyes were closed in exasperation as pressure built in his chest. Finally, it broke free in a clear, angry voice. “One at a time!”  
Immediately, the only sound in the room was the still ringing echo of the command. He knew how intimidating he was. Looking around him with eyes narrowed, the staff shrank before him. No one was willing to tell him in an orderly fashion what was happening, so what is even the point of waving in his face and shouting? A tap on his shoulder caused him to whirl, coming face-to-face with his assistant, Anathema. Her arm was extended, offering a magazine and allowing him to see a familiar design on it. The name, however, brought a new shout. “What?! How did…who is responsible for this? I swear I will find you and I will make sure you never are involved in the industry again, why, you’ll never work again!”  
The tirade was cut short by the fact that his anger had surpassed words. This was his new collection, the prize piece on the cover. But the name it was under was not the fashion house, Sheol. Instead, it had the smug face of Gabe Haniel by it, with all the highest praise Crowley deserved attached. It had been his best collection yet, possibly ever. The blurring of gender lines and unconventional pieces mixed with classic elements from all eras allowing for anyone to appreciate it. And instead of the gaudy colors that were so in style, there was a muted palette with splashes of bright primaries in small accents.

Now, most would acknowledge that this was very outside of the normal boundaries for Gabriel, as the pompous bastard insisted on being called, despite the publicist driving his label naming it Gabe. Some would even call it suspicious for him to change so drastically. Yet, they still also sang his praises for diving into the new era. It was infuriating and – no. It was unjust! This was his! No one would believe him though, so he would have to make something better. But first, he needed to find the leak.

Storming down the stairs of the building into the office the company owner preferred, he slowed as he approached the door. There was a reason they liked the office. They kept their pets with them. An eccentric billionaire, Beelzebub had ironically made their first amount of money on pest control. They had then proceeded to change their name to the notorious demon, and also begun their hoard of six to hundred legged pets. There was something intimidating about speaking to your boss with hundreds of tiny eyes on you. Beelzebub’s favorites always stayed with them however, the colorful blow flies that were allowed to even lay their eggs under the skin of their owner. However, as Crowley stood at the door, debating whether or not to knock, it opened.

“I see you saw the news. I’m already reviewing the security footage myself. I don’t trust the security guard to actually care. Go figure out a new collection, we have to prove we are still better than them. ” The short androgynous figure was bleached-toilet-paper white, with a small boil on their neck. Apparently, they had a larvae in them currently. Crowley suppressed a shudder, focusing on the fact that they were helping. He hadn’t even gotten in a word, but that was how they liked it. The door was already closing but his hand shot out and he gasped a little. The small figure turned and scowled, about to say something when Crowley spoke darkly. “I want to see their face when they find out they’ve been caught and blacklisted from every reputable fashion house.”

At that statement, Beelzebub simply smiled. There was the motivation they needed. Now he was certain to perform, no two motives fighting each other. His satisfaction and reputation both needed the same goal. His best work would be brought forth and all with one simple sentence.

“You get me results, and I’ll get you yours. Now get the hell out of my office.”

That was all Crowley needed to hear. Storming up the stairs, he nearly mowed down his assistant, Anathema, who waited calmly in her demure manner with a stack of ideas which were being saved for a new collection. Thankfully, she waited pressed against the wall as she had been his assistant for several years and knew exactly what the lanky man’s footfalls meant. In this scenario, the footfalls meant that he was angry, not looking where he was going, and if he knocked you over, he would keep going and leave his heel print in the center of your face to get where he was going. In this case, Anathema simply passed the stack into his arms and then matched his pace.

“I don’t trust them,” she said, face blank and unreadable. Beelzebub always seemed to turn up when anything went wrong. It was like they waited for a cue and then entered a stage. The caring, concerned boss, line 2, on your mark. The facade would hold up much better if they weren’t such a terrible actor. “Mark my words, they will only be trouble. I don’t understand why you took the money in the first place, however, this is the best job I’ve got.” Spinning on her heels in front of him, her finger came up and met his face. “So if I lose it because of your choices, remember I have nothing else to lose.”

That actually brought Crowley to a stop. He hadn’t wanted to take the money himself, because he liked being his own boss, but this had meant more opportunities and better materials. Hell, he had even given his employees a raise. Yet now, he was asking himself as well, was Beelzebub planning something? Their fortune came from applying their love of insects and weaponizing it, their interest in alternative fashion could be equally destructive. But this wasn’t the same, not at all. It could all just be their true interest of investing in potential. After all, the millionaire’s reach was wide spread and they had several companies at this point.

“They have money at stake, this matters to them. Now, I need to find new inspiration and I need you to go and find a bolt of that new fabric I got. The neogothic lace. I think if I combine that with a ribbon I saved, I could come up with a lingerie line.” Anathema nodded, then handed Crowley the coffee he had forgotten. It had traded hands with the papers when she handed the stack to him originally and then he had simply walked away. At that, Crowley marched up the stairs, into his private studio, and started sketching. Idea after idea was drawn out, then discarded. Bolt after bolt of fabric piled up on the floor, with Anathema running from the storehouse to the studio for the next two hours. It all came to a screeching halt however, when Crowley reached over, picked up his reusable mug, lifted it to his lips, and tasted absolutely nothing. His glare was enough that if it were possible for the mug to refill itself, it would have instinctively. If it weren’t his favorite mug, it would have been thrown on the spot. As it was however, the bitterness in his soul was not enough and he needed the bitter undertone of caffeine with an ungodly amount of sugar.

“Anathema! I’m going to the coffeeshop. Maybe I’ll see some inspiration on the street. There was that bizarre cat once, and it spawned a whole collection.” Crowley’s voice echoed through the space to the assistant’s desk who smiled a little at that memory. Somehow that cat had become her cat, and then had gotten her labeled the weird witch lady. A true statement, certainly, but they didn’t need to say it. However, after a moment, she replied to him.

“What would you like me to do with the sketches you have rejected, sir?” Those words caused Crowley to growl and look back at the pile of papers. Despite its size and the likelihood that at least a few could be applied to a different project, Crowley hated how they basically taunted him at his current failure. With a snarl, he gritted his teeth and then replied harshly.

“Just get them out of the way and figure out which ones might be useful! I don’t care, it’s not like they’ll help now.” At those words, he took off, not wanting to further acknowledge how little time he had and still needed ideas. Down the stairs and out the back door, he walked down the sidewalk quickly, passing newsstands and advertisements for the newest collection from Gabe Haniel. With every single image, he walked faster finally storming into his coffee shop with his eyes closed and shouting, “Daniel, I need a g-ddamn espresso!” Ripping off his sunglasses and opening his eyes, he was met with a messy bookshop and a fair, golden-haired man staring at him. The man’s sharp nose was slightly scrunched along with his eyebrows, before his face relaxed into an expression of understanding. The light from behind him seemed to give him a halo, and he spoke with a gentle hint of laughter. “Ah, my dear man, I would agree with you on the espresso, I believe you have confused my shop with my neighbor’s. You believed yourself to be entering Unholy Grounds, correct?”

His voice only further drove home the angelic ideals, and Crowley was left stammering nonsensically. The man was beautiful, a vision of grace and poise while surrounded by such messy passion that can only be created by someone so consumed with the contents of their wares that they forget the external organization. He was familiar with that, but then the words processed. Oh. Oh dear, he had and then he had shouted profanity. However, the appearance and the coffee shops name spawned a collection idea that just might be able to surpass his stolen masterpiece.  
Sprinting out the door, he bolted down the street at a breakneck speed. He had to get started immediately. Screw the coffee, this was exactly what he had been waiting for all day. An idea. Shouts followed him down the sidewalks, as well as car horns at each intersection. There was even a vault over the front of a car which had pulled up too far because Crowley was far too busy to be hit at a stoplight.

Busting through the back door, Crowley was back up the stairs three at a time with his lanky legs and sprinting into his studio. Anathema just about screamed, instead whirling and leaning on the stool with her hand over her heart. “Crowley, what the hell happened?!”

“Idea! I can’t stop now, I have to get it down. Now!” At those words, he ducked around her and grabbed a pencil, beginning to draw frantically while Anathema immediately began to collect extra paper and take the sketches pinning them up in various patterns and rearranging with each new one to add. This continued for several hours until finally it concluded at the loud grumble of Crowley’s stomach and Anathema collapsing into a chair.

“Please tell me we have enough to stop for the night. Or at least enough for me to go to my apartment and get a more comfortable pair of shoes. Also you need to eat, it’s dark out now.” Anathema’s words were able to break through to Crowley and he sighed, nodding and standing.

“It’s been long enough since I ate that my hands are shaking. We’ll stop for the night and come back early. We have to design and create a full collection by the new season and that’s in a month and a half.” Crowley’s voice was resigned, with every movement enough to send screams through his body. He really needed to work on his posture. Standing, he stretched and then shook his head. “We’re gonna be busy, rest up and maybe have a couple glasses of wine.” He might be having a half a bottle. However, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Anathema smiled and nodded at that. “Don’t drink too much, spread it out over a few days instead and then once we’ve got the sketches finished and are picking fabric, we can drink ourselves stupid and bitch about Gabriel.” Picking up her purse, she opened the door and held it for the lanky man. They then took the stairs side by side and parted ways at the street. “Good night sir, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night Anathema.”

__________________________________________________________________

Beelzebub had indeed been watching security footage. A great deal of it in fact. But the footage was not of the employees, rather it was of Crowley as he worked and then the times when he usually left. Beelzebub already knew who was responsible, that part was simple. Beelzebub also was familiar with Gabriel. He was a pompous prick with a narcissistic streak and the social skills of a basement bound agoraphobe writing code. But he was an attractive asshole and they were set on at least once hatefucking him on camera and then getting a stake in his company.

Watching another video of Crowley, they began to work on figuring out what would be the best time to get Gabriel into the building. The back way was least used as most people feared Crowley, so they would need to time it with either while Crowley was working or when he had left for the night. They had long determined Gabriel was somewhat attracted to them, however, they had not managed to get him attracted enough to be willing to become physical. A few more phone calls and they’ll probably be able to get him to come. After that, the right buttons pushed and they’ll be flat against the wall in a hallway with teeth digging into their shoulder.

It was only a matter of time.

__________________________________________________________________

Crowley’s mind was lingering on the angelic bookshop owner. He needed to convince him to model for this collection, it was too perfect. He had to get the outfits made first though, and that would be a neat trick. He also would need the man’s measurements. And his name. How did he forget all that? Honestly, it was one thing to be distracted but it was another to forget all basic manners.

Reaching his front door, he opened it, walked through his flat, kicking off pieces of clothing as he went until he was in the buff and collapsed onto his bed. If the maid saw something when she came in, it was hardly his fault she was early. Mentally, he knew he should probably wear something but he had locked his door, he was exhausted and he just couldn’t find the energy to care. He just tugged the sheet over himself partially and passed out.

Even in his dreams though, he couldn’t escape ‘his angel’. He found himself envisioning him reading while being fitted for a pair of dress slacks, and then progressively less and less, until suddenly it wasn’t a fitting anymore. Crowley himself was being undressed, but then he kept looking down to less and less on them both, the soft rolls on the glowing man shaped around gentle lingerie and then even stranger a pair of shimmering wings that wrapped around the two. Disappointingly, Crowley was then woken by his alarm and found himself with an inconvenient boner to take care of in the short amount of time he had to get ready.

Now how to do this without mentally fucking a man whose name he didn’t even know. Crowley was left in the dilemma of either looking up something or just giving up and mentally being a hoe. Very quickly, they decided mentally being a hoe would be faster and could be taken care of while they were in the shower. He was already naked so he just turned the dial to the temperature he wanted and hit the setting he wanted, giving it a moment before he stepped in and closed the door. It had taken a bit to get used to the high tech shower, but once he was used to it, he had discovered he loved it and knew exactly what he wanted in the morning. His eyes closed as he reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock, imagining the shopkeeper’s hand instead, along with the man speaking softly in his ear. They were near enough in height, but he had a poor vantage of the man’s features. That made no difference though as he imagined his angelic muse’s hands, slightly worked but still just as delicate as his mannerisms. The increasing pressure, morning wood, and vivid dream however brought him to the edge mere seconds before his phone started to chime.

It was Anathema’s ringtone so Crowley knew it was most likely simply a call to tell him to hurry up, however, there was nothing less sexy than a girl you could consider your adoptive daughter calling mid-wank. With a groan, he finished his shower and stalked down the stairs. Now, he was in a bad mood, he wanted coffee and if he went to his favorite coffee shop he’d be walking in with a boner. How few fucks was he going to give today? Negative. Negative fucks were being given apparently, as he was already headed for the bookshop itself.

Walking up to the bookshop, he took in the exterior and then glanced at the sign on the door. Closed? Reading over the sign, Crowley finally gave up. He’ll just have to get his coffee daily. And maybe perform a little reconnaissance. Baristas know everything after all. His personal favorite, Damien, was a bit of a prick, but he knew everything about everyone. Stepping through the door of the open – and not quite confusingly closed – shop, Crowley shouted towards the back. “Damien, I know you’re back there and you’re the only one who can make my order right.” Also meaning, ignore the safety rules and simply fill a cup with espresso, whipped cream, and dark chocolate. Crowley enjoyed indulging. it was a vice, much like his temper and his laziness in the morning before his coffee.

His phone rang again and Crowley picked up, snapping into the phone. “Anathema I swear on my mother’s grave, call me one more time and I will give your coffee to the first homeless man I come across and refill the cup with duck pond water!” To Crowley’s horror however, the voice that responded was not Anathema. It was the worst possible person he could have spoken to that way.

“Oh dear, your assistant informed me you might be busy, however I do believe that might have been an understatement. Are you quite alright?” Crowley’s face turned bright red, and then he looked out the coffee shop’s storefront, he could see the man in the window, actually using an antique phone. Swinging back in violently, he grimaced and then recalled he was actually on a phone call. “Oh uh yes, there was an, er, incident at my workplace and we’re having to do a lot to catch up. But it’s no problem, none at all, but er, the other day I did not exactly catch your name so I’m not sure how Anathema found you. Oh, wait, right, the coffee shop.”

From the other end there was quiet snickering and Crowley was about to die in the shop. Now everyone was staring and he finally just grabbed the next coffee, threw a wad of money and bolted. He hung up awkwardly after saying into the phone, “Sorrygottogogoodbye!” This was horrible. Absolutely terrible. He could never face that beautiful man again.

__________________________________________________________________

Anathema was not paid enough for the work she did. However, she figured that Crowley would want to meet with his inspiration again so she went to the coffee shop first thing, and investigated the bookshop. That was how she met the lovely owner and understood why Crowley had been so struck by inspiration. Despite his youthful features, he seemed quite ancient and she could even believe he had been on Earth for millennia. This, however, was swiftly explained by the graduates degree in Medieval Literature on his wall. With a quirked eyebrow, she returned her focus to the rambling from the soft man in front of her.

“ - and he was certainly behaving oddly, though I never quite found out why. Oh, I do hope he’s alright, after all, I was so rude and didn’t even enquire as to his name.” At that, Anathema broke in. She needed to convey the information quickly before he started with panic rambling again. “Sir, I’m his assistant. His name is Anthony Crowley, and you are his inspiration for his latest collection. I would like to give you his phone number as it may prove beneficial. We have had a bit of a time crunch become necessary due to workplace difficulties and unreliable help.” With those words, she passed the bookkeeper a business card.

“Hmm, 020 7946 0296? I shall have to keep that in mind. I might call him, make sure I didn’t offend him. Oh, dear me, you must excuse me, I never introduced myself either. A. Z. Fell, or Mr. Fell, or whatever iteration pleases you. I prefer to go by last name than first or middle as my mother got quite eccentric with those.” The blush said that whatever the combination of names was, it was humiliating.

“Well, thank you Mr. Fell. I must say you have a beautiful shop and I understand why it is so inspiring to Mr. Crowley. It truly is an example of a fine curated collection of literature.” Anathema was smiling slightly, then turned and waved lightly. “However, I’m afraid for now I must depart as I am needed at work to oversee and help identify a few problematic points in our work.” A returned wave with a fierce blush was all the response she was going to get though, as the compliment had sent the man into a flurry of movements, picking up the nearest book and trying to hide his own face.

Anathema’s long, confident strides carried her through the busy streets of London to the Tube easily, mind beginning to time the distance, once she was within it to her necessary stop. At the soft ping, she stepped through the door, still deep in thought. Something about the whole situation wasn’t right. But with her arrival and the fact that Crowley wasn’t early, it meant he was exhausted and would need reminder to be there on time. Yet when the phone rang, the shower was running and Crowley was irritated. Anathema would be busy. Her smile was mysterious yet fond as she walked up to the private studio, preparing for the day which lay ahead.

Within the studio, she began to look over her organizations of Crowley’s sketches, arranging some of the more extravagant outfits with like designs. Yet there were also lingerie sketches mixed in. She began to match up the pieces, thinking an intern had snuck in but the styles weren’t right. The pieces would have patterns that don’t mesh, every style seemed to clash no matter how she paired them. She became so engrossed in her task that she didn’t hear Crowley enter, stepping up behind her and leaning down.

“Ah. Continuing to play matchmaker? Since you apparently have the time to go to the shop, you can explain what possessed you to do so.” Oh dear, he was not happy. This was more than inspiration then, there was actual feeling already. Now she had to interfere. His apartment was much too depressing. He didn’t even have extra chairs! But right now, well, he would not appreciate being reminded of that.

“You were so inspired by him, I thought for sure that you would want to spend more time with him. It’s one thing to have an idea, but Crowley, you seem to have found a muse!” Her words struck a chord in Crowley, and he slowly nodded. Whatever happened had upset him, but she was right. There were strong emotions there.

“…I suppose. But, you got the outfits wrong. They’re all out of order.” His long fingers shifted around each image until Anathema began to see the patterns. Matching outfits would have similar patterns, but the color schemes were drastically different. Even more, there was a pattern. The soft lingerie was similar but also pastel and light. But it matched to very sleek, dark outfits. However the traditional ones had very seductive undergarments. A stark contrast which would be sure to attract attention on the runway.

“I will get the ones you deem completed to some of our best drafters. We need everyone involved to get this done, and even if we haven’t found the mole, I know which ones don’t have time to sell our designs. I’ll redistribute their workloads and reduce it to focus on this. What do you want to call the collection?” Anathema was no longer in meddling, this was pure professionalism. She knew where to go and it was time to get down to business.

Crowley immediately handed her a few stacks which were completed and then paused. “No idea. I might actually need that muse. I can’t just say heaven and hell, but I still need something similar.” He began to pace, then started to draw rapidly on his next sheet of sketch paper. A dramatic stylistic suit with ruffles began to form, harkening to the French rococo period. The more he worked, the more modern aspects were pulled into it. Slim pockets and larger buttons on the vest allow the whole thing to begin to compliment the style and he makes the ruffles a bit smaller. It forms into a stylized rococo outfit, with simple lines, but also with ruffles along the collar, pockets, and ends of the sleeves.

Anathema watched with a smile, able to envision the antiquated bookkeep  
dressed in that and posing for the advertisements. Crowley looks at it, nods with satisfaction and passes it to her. “Take that one down too,” he said. “It’s perfect.”  
The young woman was inclined to agree with him. It seemed the type of thing you would wear on a trip to Paris when you visit Versailles. Fitting for a medieval literature major. Now to get Crowley to have some sense about the man, it was high time that he have some companionship besides the house plants he yelled at. Her musings were interrupted by Crowley’s shout however, as he bolted over and snatched it back. “I need a model! That’s what I need!” And at that, he was out the door, humiliation forgotten.

__________________________________________________________________

Angel Zira Fell was acutely aware of his name. He always had been. But who names their fashion house after the Jewish idea of hell? It was certainly unique and memorable which is of course the intended purpose of a name and marketing so perhaps his initial assumption was incorrect that it was impractical. However, this was a long standing house with notoriety for the best collections of the season and they had recently been acquired by the eccentric billionaire who also owned his cousin’s name now. They should have no worries whatsoever, not even financially so it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Anathema had implied to him.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the number and was met with an angry “Anathema, I swear on my mother’s grave, I will give your coffee to the first homeless person I see and refill the cup with duck pond water!” Oh dear. He may have been incorrect in his conclusions. In fact, it seemed his assistant may have understated the situation in their previous conversations.

“Oh dear, your assistant informed me you might be busy, however I do believe that may have been an understatement. Are you quite alright?” Zira could hear the coffee shop in the background. He knew where the other man was. Also, he was plainly audible when he shouted into the phone right next door. But he was having a touch of fun with him, leading him to believe that he didn’t know where the other one was. He knew he often seemed a tad out of touch with the rest of the world. But that was merely a side effect of being a lover of Antique Literature. He meticulously updated anything he used electronically to maintain his desired aesthetic.

“Oh uh yes, there was an, er, incident at my workplace and we’re having to do a lot to catch up. But it’s no problem, none at all, but er, the other day I did not exactly catch your name so I’m not sure how Anathema found you. Oh, wait, right, the coffee shop.” Zira stifled a giggle now, as the stammering became more frantic. He wasn’t exactly successful however, and the lovely man seemed to become quite embarrassed as he followed up with “Sorrygottogogoodbye!” Oh dear, he would owe quite an apology to the dear man. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset to have been found out this whole time.

Throughout the day, he couldn’t get how rude he had been off his mind. He only had the phone number but after laughing at him, why would he answer the phone again? It was going to be difficult to apologize. No one ever came into his shop unless they were an academic looking for a specific resource. While he did own the shop and supplemented a great many papers, so he got a portion of the credits. And the inheritance certainly didn’t hurt. He received a stipend and his place as an antique book seller status meant that he got an advance on all books that appeared on the market.

While checking his emails and browsing, the door opened again. Standing and going to the front, he put on his smile. “Welcome to Fell’s Bookshop, home of antique literature, first editions and a carefully curated library for those in the world of academia. How may…I…help you?” It was him. It was him, he was back, he was smiling even! And then, he stumbled forward, grasping Zira’s hands.

“I need a model. Please, please please please, just grant me this. Only for this collection if need be, and I’ll pay, but you’ve given me so many ideas and I need them. I need them all. My collection was stolen, and now, I have a month. A month! For a whole collection, I don’t know what to do anymore but when I look at you, you’re so unique, so full of life and vibrancy. I feel like I could actually finish this, with you. Just, bring a book, bring your work, I’ll pay, you’ll be in my private studio.” The rambling words were confusing, yet when processed carried so much weight. His body was nothing special, his style dull, and his face was so plain if he changed his hair he doubted anyone would recognize him.

Zira fidgeted, looking at his hands and then asked quietly, “Why me? How am I so inspiring? I’m a Medieval Literature major, who runs a bookshop to get advance notice on books. That’s all.” His style was always the same, he was predictable. He only changed every five years or so, and then it’s gradual. How on earth could this wild, exciting man see inspiration in him?

But then Crowley spoke. “You have an air of wisdom, timeless knowledge that has endured. You bare your soul with your shop, and you own this place with your presence. How could you ever not find inspiration in you?” He held such passion in his voice as he was riding an espresso and adrenaline high. Every word in his speech was truth, yet if he were thinking clearly he wouldn’t have said any of it. Who would say that thinking clearly? But even more, how could Zira say no?

Eventually, with an air of finality, he spoke. “I’ll do it.”

__________________________________________________________________

End of day, almost everyone had left, yet still Crowley and his new model were working on. The lights were on only in the private studio, and of course, in Beelzebub’s office. They smiled as they saw a hooded figure enter the building from the rear. The shadowed masculine frame descended the stairs and then, a knock sounded at the office door. With a smile, they opened the door and then immediately was shoved backwards by a pissed off Gabriel. “What the fuck is happening here? How the hell is my cousin now modeling for the man who literally would like to see me dead?!”

Beelzebub merely trailed their fingers down his cheek and smiled. They had not expected this development of course, but they do also have a plan now. “Darling, darling, don’t worry, this is just even easier. They get to close, I shatter both their hearts and then suddenly, they won’t speak to each other and maybe even try and drag the other down! The drama unfolding will only bring in more money! The reclusive cousin of master artist targeted and catfished by rival designer? It’ll go global.” Gabriel Haniel listened and then began to smile, he always thought that little bookshop was more cramped than anything else. It would make sense that his brother disappeared into it but he also was a weirdo. Gabriel had always paid for the bookshop so he would stay in there, but now he was connected to Crowley. Modeling for Sheol! It was disgusting. Looking down at Beelzebub, he shoved their androgynous form into the wall, growling lowly. “You’d better fix it. I can’t have our family name sullied with the reputation of Sheol.” Beelzebub’s response though, was not words. Instead, they licked their lips, pressing themselves to him and kissed him aggressively. If he didn’t feel the same, this could backfire. Those fears were promptly squashed as he groaned and then lifted them onto a desk, swiping away multiple stacks in favor of setting them on it and tugging at their clothes. Every groan and angry mutter was impeded by the other’s mouth or hand, or even shoulder.

As soon as Beelzebub’s pants were off and packer out of the way, the man’s large hands were going into them and feeling how worked up they were. A smug grin spread and he knew why he was there. “You disgusting little pervert. You never wanted to discuss plans, you just wanted me to fuck you because you are too disgusting to get fucked by someone you don’t own.” Now he was in control. He held the cards and would happily exploit them.

Beelzebub’s responding snarl conveyed so much emotion towards the larger man. An aggressive hip buck however was all they could manage against him. It wasn’t that they didn’t want this, they just didn’t want him to be in charge! They were always in charge. So, they shoved a hand down his pants, forcing the waistband down to drag out his dick. It was already mostly hard, but he needed an extra push before it would go in them. Leaning forward, they bit down on his shoulder and then ground against him. They needed to be quick, Crowley was always wanting to check in now.

Yet now he had a gorgeous man in front of him as well. So maybe, just maybe, for once they had a solid amount of time to get thoroughly fucked by someone who just wanted sex. Thankfully, the shoulder bite conveyed the message and he used a hand to unbutton his pants and push them down to his knees. They didn’t have a condom, either of them. It was basically guaranteed that the smaller wasn’t clean either, they had a damn botfly in their shoulder right now. So who knows what they had in their pants. Fuck it, now he was too horny to leave. With a harsh jerk, he dragged his boss to the edge of their desk and shoved into them. A responsive moan and fingernails set his nerves on fire. A switch was flipped and their thrusts became harsher and rougher. Angrily, he spoke again. “Fuck - you you fucking - prick! I swear - I will expose you - for the perverted - disgusting - manipulative - ASS you - are!”

The desk jolted with each thrust, a couple of terrariums shifting and startling the inhabitants. Hisses and clicks accompanied the thrusts, setting off the rest of the room. Despite the clinical lights over the terrariums, Beelzebub was still shadowed in darkness while Gabriel’s custom fabric in his coat caught the light however, glistening brightly as it was designed to block paparazzi and cameras. Beelzebub grabbed the collar and jerked him down to their level, whispering in a hissed voice. “I. Own. You. I own your name. I own your firm. I even own your cousin’s shop. Now shut up and fuck me so I can throw your ass out of here.” At that, Gabriel slammed into them and ground right against their g-spot. The sudden rush of simply overwhelming pleasure shut them up and left them babbling in a failed attempt to further insult him. After that, Gabriel sneered and kept pounding that spot. It felt even better for him, and best of all, it got them to shut the hell up. It didn’t take long at that for Beelzebub to cum, but then he didn’t stop. He chuckled darkly, continuing to thrust into their twitching pussy and reveling in the moans from them. He was close and the sadistic streak in him was enjoying the twisted grimace. Every thrust was more and more forceful until he shoved in fully and pinned them down, pelvic muscles pulsing as he groaned.

The second he was done, he pulled out and grabbed a tissue, wiping down and tucking himself away. Pants were pulled up and he began rearranging himself. As Beelzebub slowly sat back up, they sneered. “So you can tidy like a gentlemen but can’t help your partner?” A little bitterness seeped into their voice but for the most part, they were taunting him.

The bait didn’t catch though and he just looked at them blandly. “You’re my boss. And you did want me out quick.” At that, his jacket was adjusted and he was out the door, heading down the street with only a minimal sweat that could be brushed off. Meanwhile, Beelzebub had gotten exactly what they bargained for. Don’t piss off a man who carries bolts of fabric by himself. Slowly, they dragged themselves up off their desk and put their pants back on. No one ever saw them anyways.

__________________________________________________________________

Anathema had done well. That was apparent in the companionable conversation that had been struck between the two men. While one was currently expounding upon the wonder of the French fashion through the centuries and their affects on the literature of Europe, the other was staring adoringly while designing yet another outfit. It had been two weeks though, with no progress on finding the culprit. But through all of this Anathema had only one question. How the hell did that shop stay open? She hadn’t wanted to be rude, but in this whole time he hadn’t even received a call about the shop and his hours were utterly incomprehensible. It was time to get answers. “Mr. Fell, I haven’t wanted to be rude but it seems worth asking. How do you keep your shop open? First editions and medieval manuscripts are expensive, not to mention the equipment you have for preservation and repair. So, where is that money coming from?” At that, Zira blushed a bit, now he had to admit the sad part about his shop. “Well, as you know, I am a curator of sorts, collecting what would normally be a single university or museums property. When I collect them, I repair, restore, and then offer the use of them to members of the academic community for papers. The one condition of my shop’s existence, is that I must ensure my relations and their identities remain secret. Especially as I am openly pansexual and that is seen as undesirable by them. So, I ensure my identity and theirs remain secret. ” By the time those sentences were finished, both Crowley and Anathema were pissed. Finally, Anathema spoke again. “That’s fucked up. Who the hell are you related to? How do they have the money to treat you that shittily? I won’t tell anyone, I just want to know whose hair I need to acquire to put in a poppet. And then keep its neck permanently cricked. With occasional fire applied to them.” Slowly, Mr. Fell spoke again, this time flinching in advance. “Gabriel Haniel. He has always kept me quiet and I know that there is a bit of controversy. I know my cousin’s work, and this collection is not it. But having seen yours, I’m assuming he stole it from you. His new boss is a terrible influence I’m afraid, ever since they bought a controlling stock.” Now, it was Crowley who was suspicious. He was familiar with that effect and it could simply be another investor, but perhaps, “What is the investor’s name? What do they do?”

“Why, they go by Beelzebub. Quite eccentric, and they’re trying to keep their own LGBT influence away from my cousin’s quite,” Zira coughed awkwardly, “closed-minded. So I’m not sure how he tolerates them.” His face was now beet red, and so was Crowley’s and Anathema’s.

“I believe we found our leak. And now, we have to figure out how to remove our own major investor for corporate espionage. We need evidence and not word of mouth and hearsay.” Anathema finally spoke again, composing herself and then smiling. Finally a reason to track down the sneaky bitch and then use everything against them. And maybe even get some incriminating footage or conversation.

“So, we make sure that this stays quiet. Alright, but, what about my shop? If my cousin is taken down for corporate espionage, then we what, pack up my books and close everything down?” Now it was Zira who looked stress, and Crowley was unable to stop himself from grabbing the man’s hands.

“You’re my angel, how could I ever let you lose your life’s passion?” This only brought raucous laughter from the other as he finally pulled out his ID and held it out. On it were the words, ‘Angel Zira Fell’. They all began laughing as Crowley stared before turning and asking, “Did your mother do this to all her children?”

“Oh yes, several actually changed their name upon reaching adulthood.” Every word expressed was between giggles as the fact that his pet name was his actual name. “I just, she put so much though into it and it wasn’t Sandriel because and I quote, ‘Sanderson is just too boring, how will they know he’s from our family?’ Honestly, I was just lucky I was the eldest before she really got creative.”

Now, Anathema just sighed and nodded, “I am an only child and am named Anathema. I understand. But it’s not really that bad, especially since your initials are A and Z. Those are especially good for your shop. Nonetheless, no matter what occurs, we will ensure you can keep your shop.” A firm nod accompanies them and soon, a plan is put into action.

Two days later, Zira emerges from the private room and strolls through the employee’s area, wearing a brand new piece while heading to the coffee machine. Beelzebub rushed to Crowley, frantically shuffling him into the room they just left. “What are you doing?! We haven’t caught the mole!” However, the voice from behind them froze them.

“Ah. Beelzebub. How strange to see you here. Oh, wait, that’s right. You were nearly brought up on charges of corporate espionage in the past. Correct?” Zira had doubled back, standing with a cold smile that was unfamiliar to the man’s face. The next person to arrive was Anathema, who had brought a small but heavy and data-laden hard drive which had been connected to and downloading the thief’s computer for over a day. And lastly, the entire board of the company. All displeased. As Beelzebub paled, the mild book keep spoke one more time. “And if you attempt to pressure me into dropping this and not testifying to my knowledge of your involvement with my cousin, then I will ensure that they find out about your illegally exported animals as well. Currently, you have a month to find appropriate botanical gardens and zoos who can take care of them. I will be checking up on the progress. Daily.”

Crowley was watching the other man, increasingly aware that when he chose to be, he could be domineering when he wished to be. The longer they stood there, the more uncomfortable it got. Anathema chose to step in after three of the business men shuffled uncomfortably, her modestly dressed frame striding forward and pushing both Crowley and their Angel forward. “Well gentlemen, I believe you and the legal team as well as officers waiting in the conference room are more than capable of handling any further. I leave the information collected in your capable hands, now we have a line to finish.” Hard drive handed off, they pushed both turned on men up the stairs but then made a sharp right and pushed them both into the supply closet and closed the door.

“Anathema, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Crowley was now blushing, as his boner was quite prominent in the small space. However, a small relief was the rapidly forming boner on his Angel as well. Despite nothing official having been said, they had both fallen for each other and they were not subtle about feelings, no matter how hard they might try.

“Work out your feelings and quit making sex eyes at each other all day, Please! Don’t worry, I have noise cancelling head phones!” Anathema was past the point of caring, she had so far in the past two days broke into an office full of creepy bugs, gathered over 3 terabytes of evidence, arranged the subtle arrival of two police officers, 8 corporate business men, and 5 expensive lawyers, and also had to deal with two oblivious gays for about 36 hours. What were they gonna do about it, say ‘thanks for making us admit our feelings’? And the condoms and lube were just proactiveness. She hadn’t said anything but seeing as Crowley hadn’t even had a one night stand in over two years from being overworked, it was a distinct probability they would engage in some sort of sexual actions.

Within the closet, both men were staring at each other and then Zira got a wicked grin. “Well. I suppose if we are only getting out by working these out, we should enjoy that time.” The small whimper from Crowley only made the smile grow, as the typically unimposing man was now advancing in the already small space. The lights had already been on when they were pushed into the closet, so a quick glance down had him giving an interested noise. “Oh, well, how do you want to do this my dear boy? I must confess, I’ve had a great many fantasies over these past few weeks. And so far, you look very much like them. All these convenient objects to bend you over, of course, I’m also quite amenable to–“

“God please!” Crowley desperately cut him off, already working on both their pants. He wasn’t really prepped and it had certainly been a while since he had the time to find a decent lay, but he was more than willing. He had enough toys that he knew how to take it. He wasn’t gonna be perfectly ready, but he truly couldn’t find it within himself to care. Instead, he jerked off his pants as well and grabbed the lube, ready to open himself up a bit.

Zira was having none of that. “Oh, no no, if you’re that eager I want to do it myself. We are on a soundproofed floor and the only person nearby has headphones on. I want to see what delectable noises I can drag from your willing body.” His own pants were far enough down to make room for the decently sized erection. It was certainly not as ridiculously sized as the horrendously acted porn one would find online, but it was thick and veiny. But most importantly, Zira wanted his well worked fingers in Crowley’s ass.

Crowley obediently handed the other the lube and bent over the large sawhorse that they kept for making sets for photographers. A gentle kiss was pressed to each cheek, making the lanky man blush but then the hands on his hips moved and a quiet click was all he heard next. Then the slightly cool lube was spread over his very eager hole, followed by a single but broader finger. It worked its way in steadily, smoothly applying pressure until with a small whimper, Crowley quietly pleaded, “More, Angel, please, want more of you in me.”

With a slight chuckle, Zira obliged, pressing a second prepped finger in and working deeper, before his fingers began searching for a spot to really tease him. The small hard spot soon gave it away as well as the whine and hard shove back against him in a search for more, but each movement was thwarted as Zira wanted to be thorough. “Now now, dear, I don’t want to hurt you. I want it to be pleasant.” A whine came out at that, and Crowley pleaded, “But I want to feel you for days!” He was usually terrible at saying what he wanted. Unless he was horny and desperate to get pounded into the floor. The man was thick though. “At least another finger, please?”

“Now that I can certainly oblige.” Three would be more than enough to open him up, get him plenty ready and it wouldn’t take long. The moan when his third finger entered with the other two after he pulled back was more than worth this. In fact, it was perfect. So instead, he slowly twisted his hand, stretching them and then working it all back in with a wicked grin. The ever decreasing resistance was just about what he thought perfect. Soon, he slipped the fingers out.

“Noo - ooooo…” Crowley’s protest was cut off as a condom sheafed erection entered him with a firm steady pressure. He gasped and pressed back only to be stopped by those firm hands on his hips and then the pressure of a pair of lips behind his ears.

“Oh, my dear, if you want to take it rough, then you’ll stay still and let me ensure no real harm is done.” The precise words were always firm and there was a part of Crowley that squirmed at it. But they also settled at his words, fighting to not try and get more. He was soon rewarded for his patience when his Angel began harshly thrusting in, every movement also shifting him on the fabric. Despite the soft body, there was strength lying beneath it. And now that strength was fucking Crowley with a thick cock that was veiny enough for him to feel it with each movement.

Yet when he was finally met with it hitting his prostate and then again, his mind blanked and all he could say was “Yes yes yes there fuck oh god yes, fuck, please!” He hadn’t had sex this good, especially with him on the receiving end, in about five years, since he had started working as head designer. It’s easier to be picky about your fucks when you don’t only have one night free every 3 or 4 months.

But oh, those were the noises Zira had been waiting to here, now knowing just how to move to bring him over the edge and give him more of those delicious sounds and also that pressure. Every thrust there had the man clenching around him and just offering up the most beautiful reactions. “I wouldn’t dream of stopping my love.”

Each movement was fabulous and only aided the building pressure until Crowley was pushed over the edge and came on the crumpled tarp on the floor. Zira had been holding himself back and with a couple more thrusts came into the condom with a long, low groan. Conveniently, as it was the supply closet, there was a decent supply of trash bags, paper towels and toilet paper that they used to clean up. True to his word, Zira had left Crowley with a distinct gait, but also a feeling of satisfaction.

Anathema soon let the two out since the floor had stopped shaking, and as Crowley listened to his love’s stream of information, heard the perfect words for his new line.

“As Above, So Below.”

__________________________________________________________________  
When the news was revealed that it was Beelzebub who had sold the collection, and then taken advantage of both companies, they were banned by both companies and charged with Corporate Espionage. Credit was given where due, but the collection that was revealed with a new model, A.Z. Fell, combined elements of old French Rococo and new materials, along with a daring strip down to a contrasting lingerie, the constant blushing of Zira, as well as Crowley and Anathema’s smugness, suddenly made sense to all who had seen it. Each ethereal design was matched with a sultry pair of lingerie, for any physical body which desired it, masculine or feminine. And it was definitely not a fuck you at the exposed homophobic Gabe Haniel.


End file.
